“You didn’t deserve that. And I’m so, so sorry.” He kisses the tears from my cheeks, soft and deliberate, erasing the hurt we both caused.
I glance at the pastel helmet on the counter. “What’s with the motorcycle gear?”
His smirk is devilish. “Let’s eat first. I want to take you on a ride to this place I found—you’ll love it.” He pulls out the barstool for me, steady hand brushing my waist as I sit. “It’s a long ride. Hopefully you’re up for it.”
We eat in silence, bacon crisp and eggs buttery, the kind of quiet that feels full instead of heavy. His hand rests on my leg the whole time, warm and grounding, as if he lets go, I might slip away. When we’re done, Donovan takes my plate to the sink, water running as he rinses it clean. “Go change into somethingwarm,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.”
I head to my room and pull on my warm black skinny jeans, then a blue long-sleeve Henley. My favorite black Dr. Martens completes the look. With my hair braided into two long plaits, I step back into the living room. Donovan’s eyes roam up my body; his eyes fucking me, sending shivers down my spine. He helps me into my new jacket and grabs the rest of the gear.
Once we’re downstairs, Donovan swings his leg over the bike like he’s done it a thousand times—smooth, easy, and confident. Without a word, he reaches for my hand, steadying me as I climb on behind him, like he already knew I’d hesitate. His palm lingers on my thigh, grounding me.
He glances back, voice low and sure. “Hold on tight. Lean when I lean. Don’t fight it—just move with me. If you need me to stop, tap my thigh twice. I’ll pull over as soon as it’s safe.” I nod, but he’s already facing forward. I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing in close, and just before the engine growls to life, he adds, “You'll be fine. I’ve got you.”
We ride like this for hours. I have no idea where we’re going, that should’ve terrified me—but it doesn’t. The anxiety that had its claws in me loosens with every mile, replaced by something I don’t feel often: calm. Not the kind I fake at campus mixers or wear like perfume around my mother; this is different. It settles in my bones. Quiet. Steady. Real.
Donovan starts pulling off the highway, and I see a sign that says Entering Devil’s Cove, North Carolina.Okay, well, that’s not creepy at all.
He pulls into a gas station called the Last Stop, fills the tank, and parks. Fingers laced, we walk toward the front entrance—charming, almost storybook cute. Inside, the place is massive, with shelves stacked high and filled with everything you could need—a one-stop shop.
Donovan leads me toward a side door markedLast Stop Tavern.The second we step through, I freeze. This place is fucking beautiful.
A wraparound porch stretches wide, the ocean framed beyond it. My feet finally move, carrying me straight to a hanging swing. I drop into it, swaying gently, the view opening up in front of me—waves crashing against the shore, salt air filling my lungs, sharp and alive.
Donovan sits beside me, our fingers tangling again. His hand is warm and steady, a stark contrast to the chill rolling in from the sea.
An older man with a long, peppered beard, walks by, a warm smile on his face as he looks at Donovan. “Guess you really weren’t gonna be a stranger, now were ya son?” His southern drawl makes me smile.When was Donovan here?
“Hey, Huxley, this place was too perfect. I couldn’t enjoy it when my heart wasn’t with me.” Huxley nods his head with understanding as he walks towards the bar.
“When were you here?” I lean into him as his arm settles around my shoulders.
“After our miscommunication yesterday, I bought a new bike. Took a long therapy ride. Ended up here.” He stands, holding his hand out until I place mine in his. He pulls me up, and together we drift toward the shoreline. We don’t speak. We let the waves do the talking, crashing and retreating around our ankles, cold water tugging at the sand beneath our feet. Salt hangs heavy in the air, stinging my lungs in a way that feels almost cleansing.
At the edge of the water’s pull, he turns to me, eyes soft but unflinching, his voice low like he’s still wrestling the right words out of his chest.
“Stella.”
My name falls like a promise, a whispered prayer, heavy enough to make my lungs ache. “I’ve loved you since high school.Since the first day you rolled your eyes at me in chemistry and made me believe I’d never be good enough. You wrecked me then. You still do.”
He steps closer, the salt air curling between us, his hands warm as they frame my face, fingertips brushing stray hairs off my cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me against the cold rush of the tide.
“You were always the one. Through every mistake, every year, every time I looked for your face in a crowd that wasn’t ours anymore—it was still you. It’sonlyever been you.”
Behind him, the ocean stretches out in all directions, sunlit and endless, glowing under the soft gold of late afternoon.
“I used to think the ocean was the biggest thing I’d ever see in my life,” he says quietly. “But then you loved me back. And suddenly the ocean didn’t seem that big anymore.”
I can’t barely breathe. My chest aches, full and fragile all at once.
Then—he’s dropping to one knee in the sand.
No box. No speech practiced in front of a mirror. Just Donovan. Just us.
“I know we just found our way back to each other. I know it’s fast, messy, and probably insane. But I’ve been yours for years, Stella. I’vealwaysbeen yours. So if you still want me—if you still believe in us—marry me. Don’t make me live another day without you being mine again.”
The waves crash behind us like applause.
And the only thing I know for sure is that I’ve never heard anything more honest in my life.
